a presence that changes nothing I control nothing,
Not the rhythm of my breathing Nor that of my emotions.
I share my blood with a phantom of melancholy, a tempered shadow that shields me from grief
I sacrifice, as all women learn to do;
In this life, you either choose violence, or it comes knocking at your door
until your heart starts beating with its rhythm, erratically.. until you’re “hysterical”
But what woman hasn’t been called that at least once in her life?
today, i scheduled an appointment with death first thing in the morning
physiological or metaphysical, what difference does it make ?
around 4 hours between time and space.
I haven’t slept yet, this is my Eurydice and I know better than to look back; but I’m weighed down with grief, and rage alike.
what colors does it take? sometimes i believe it to be the exact shade of my eyes, dark brown, like blood that’s been accumulating under a layer of skin for too long
I think I’ve tasted it; a lucid dream..
an early state of decomposition a tree with branches that are made of coping mechanisms and abandoned reveries taking up the place of my lungs
Grief like, it grows just as much as i do.
my age now is double what It was when i first discovered what grief means…
a decade of steps that i took while i try to redefine it, this time it felt like :
your last step was my first and now I live everything halfway through because I’m always concerned: what if I’m not missing you.
a lifetime of me trying to accept it, like a foreign organ that my body kept on rejecting until it failed, in a random day; and built it’s walls all around it
life with a core of undeniable death…
that’s the beginning of all that i am,
and at my weakest, i resent you for leaving me with no other option..
I don’t know when it happened, but subconsciously, I started associating the day I lost you with the day i was born
my reincarnation, unwillingly.
All those terms... bloodstains that I must leave behind
A temperament gene. Isn’t it clear ?
I stand still in the past, where my vulnerability lies in a grave
with all the unknown. and I think my greatest regret
was thinking that i needed more time, to come up with a language that we both understand to tell you that l love you.
and that’s of little to no value..
I regret believing i had time, now as a redemption, I’ll forever live as a skeleton of fragmented existence underneath a flesh that’s sewed on with patches of half chewed rage.
• Quotes: Sophocles/Caroline M. Mar/ Taylor swift/ Nicole W. Lee/ Sara Luisa Kirk/ Sylvia Plath/ Louis Tomlinson/ Emilie Autumn/ Fyodor Dostoevsky/ Franz Kafka/Forugh Farrokhzad,
• Original context: Sinligh
1. Painting by William Adolphe Bouguereau. 2. The Mausoleum by the Phantom Painter. 3. Louis Janmot, Fleur des champs (details) 4. Despair by Bertha Wegmann 5. Tristan et Isolde (Death), Rogelio de Egusquiza